


Accidentally Yours

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blind Date, F/M, Mostly fluff though, Some angst, ridiculous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 04:33:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10404021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: Conned into a blind date with a friend of a friend's daughter, Ushijima Wakatoshi doesn't really imagine himself liking the girl anyway, let alone having lunch with her anyway. Meeting up with her again isn't on the menu, either.However, chance has a way of giving a stubborn guy like him what he needs, even if he goes into it kicking and screaming.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bittodeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittodeath/gifts).



> This was written for the HQ Rarepair Exchange 2017. I like the idea of this pairing, and I'm glad I got to write it.

“No.”

Wakatoshi doesn’t hesitate before asserting his answer to his co-worker’s absurd proposal. Some things are inappropriate for the workplace, and in his opinion, well-meaning but unwanted matchmaking is one of them.

Morita Ichirou, his floor supervisor and current source of annoyance, whines, “Oh, come on, Wakatoshi-kun. You’re a good-looking young man without a girlfriend and you’re thirty. People are probably already talking. I know someone whose daughter is close to your age, and she’s cute with a good head on her shoulders. You’d like her.”

“Morita-san, can I please get back to work?” Wakatoshi fights off his irritation and keeps his tone as civil as he can, but this entire situation is almost too ridiculous to tolerate. Nowhere in the four years of business school he had worked through had he been warned about coworkers trying to set him up on blind dates, especially nosy supervisors who make it almost impossible to say no to.

“Fine, fine.” Morita crosses his arms and slides his rear off the edge of Wakatoshi’s desk, rumpling papers that he’s sure are more important than the nonsense he’s currently enduring. “Oh, I have a merger proposal I want you to look over with me. Meet me at the Thai place across the street tomorrow for lunch? I’ll put the reservations under my name in case the board meeting in the morning runs late.”

“Yes, sir,” Wakatoshi mutters, clenching his fingers around his pen until he feels the plastic bow under the stress. When Morita finally leaves him alone in his cubicle, he drops it and isn’t even surprised when it’s still curved by his annoyance.

As he has almost every day since he took this job three years ago, Wakatoshi marks that volleyball had never been this complicated. However, his professional career had been upset by both his age and an injury, and it soon became time to move on to the next phase of his life. His faculty advisor at college had been more than willing to help him find work in his chosen field, as he had always been an above average student on top of his dedication to athletics, and it had landed him here at Fujiyama Incorporated, in the heart of Sendai.

Wakatoshi pushes all of this out of his mind as he returns to his task. The episode slips his mind and the rest of the day proceeds without further incident. On the train home, he loosens his tie and scrolls through news headlines on his phone to pass the time. As usual, he waits for everyone else departing at his stop to exit the car.

The next day is met with comfortable radio silence from Morita, who he knows will be tied up with the board of directors for the morning. Wakatoshi takes the opportunity to knock out most of his work for the day, just in case Morita indulges in his favorite pastime of hearing himself talk and lunch sprawls on far too long.

At ten minutes to noon, Wakatoshi logs off of his computer, slides it into his briefcase, and grabs his jacket for the short walk across the street and a few buildings down to a Thai place that is favored by many of the salarymen in the vicinity. He gives Morita’s name to the host and is taken to a table in the far corner.

He almost misses her because the entirely of her torso above the table is engulfed by the large menu book, but Wakatoshi gapes as he sees that there is a person sitting across from and it is definitely _not_ Morita. “Excuse me, miss,” he says, clearing his throat in the hopes of clearing up this misunderstanding. “This is my table.”

A pale face framed by light blonde hair pokes over the edge of the menu, lips pursed in confusion. “Are you Morita-san? If so, I’m supposed to meet you here.”

Wakatoshi tilts his head and stares, trying to work out why they’re supposed to be meeting the same person until he recalls the conversation he’d had right before making lunch plans. “Damn it.”

The tiny blond woman blinks up at him, shrinking at what he imagines is a looming expression — something he has made a measured effort to quell. With a resigned sigh, he sits down and shakes his head. “I’m very sorry, miss. I think we’ve both been set up.”

“You mean we’re —” She covers her mouth with her hand and almost-screams into them. “Not again.”

“Again?” Wakatoshi takes the proffered menu from the approaching waiter and orders tea while he wonders about how many other times she has been duped in a similar fashion. _She must not be very bright_ , he muses coldly before shaking off that unkind thought.

She shakes her head. “My mom keeps telling me that I’m going to end up old and alone if I don’t put myself out there more, so I let her set me up on all these blind dates. I started saying no after they ended . . . badly.” She averts her eyes. “Some people can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

In his lap, Wakatoshi’s fist clenches until he feels his nails in his palm. It doesn’t take a stretch to know what she’s talking about. Anger sprouts in his belly that, in this century, people still see fit to behave like untamed beasts. Quickly, his ill feelings about this woman subside as he says, “I assure you, I have no such motive. I thought I was here to have lunch with my boss, but I think you and I were supposed to meet, instead.” He lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry about this. Let me buy you lunch, and we can tell both of them that it was horrible and perhaps we’ll both be left alone.”

She beams at him, lighting up her entire face, and Wakatoshi fights off a stray thought that wonders why someone this attractive is still single. However, it isn’t his business, and if she’s anything like him, she simply has no interest in exhausting mating rituals that all end the same way: crowded apartments and financial burdens disguised as children.

Remembering his manners, he extends his hand and says, “Ushijima, by the way. Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

She accepts his gesture, but mid-shake, her hand starts trembling and her eyes grow wide. “You!” she squeaks. Her arm keeps pumping up and down far past the socially accepted length of a handshake. “Japan-san!”

“What?” His eyes narrow as he tries to figure out what she is talking about. He debates trying to slide his hand out of her overly-excited one, but he worries she might have a panic attack or squawk something else unintelligible.

Fortunately, she lets go so she can hide her face behind her hands. “I’m sorry! I just remember you from high school, and I realized you don’t have any idea who I am.” She huffs and slides her fingers apart so she can look at him directly. “I was the manager of the volleyball club at Karasuno the year after you graduated. I was in training at the time during the Spring High match.”

Old memories begin to surface, ones of a red-headed runt calling him ‘Japan’ on a street corner and his moody friend declaring he’d be the best setter in the prefecture. Words were exchanged and promises made. He still chuckles at the memory, despite the pair in question going on to do exactly what they had promised both in high school and the national stage.

But then he recalls a small childlike blonde cowering behind the two of them on that meeting day, never introduced. He can’t remember what she had looked like, but he wouldn’t doubt at all that the girl with Hinata and Kageyama is the same as the one sitting across from him at this moment. “I remember,” he says, slouching a little in his chair in the hopes he might stop intimidating her. “I don’t think I ever knew your name.”

“Y-Yachi!” She bows her head, nearly upsetting the glass of wine the waiter has just delivered. “Yachi Hitoka.”

Frowning at her nervous behavior, Wakatoshi says, “Maybe I should go. You seem uncomfortable.”

Hitoka shakes her head adamantly. “Nononononono! I’m just —” She sighs and rests her cheek on her palm. “This is so embarrassing. I’m so awkward.” She takes a long drag of her wine and closes her eyes. Wakatoshi doesn’t blame her.

They eat in relative silence, only interrupting the stalemate to order their meals and for Wakatoshi to pay the check, despite Hitoka’s protestations that they split the bill. Wakatoshi tucks his credit card into the sleeve and holds it out of her reach for their server to take with a smile he might characterize as sly. Ignoring what a complete stranger thinks his lunch with Hitoka is about, Wakatoshi moves to pull out her chair and take the coat draped over the back of it around her shoulders.

“I hope my company wasn’t poor, Yachi-san,” he says, bowing. “I regret the inconvenience, and I sincerely hope this never happens again.” With an eye roll, he adds, “To either of us.”

They part ways, and Wakatoshi rushes back to his cubicle to get right back to work, giving Morita’s office a wide berth lest he say something to his boss that will have him cleaning out his desk by the end of the day. In less than an hour, he’s finished with all of his assigned tasks for the day and already well into the next day’s orders of business. He’s so concentrated on _not_ thinking about the various ways he would like to skin Morita that he doesn’t notice someone standing behind him until there’s a light tap on his shoulder.

“Wakatoshi-kun?”

Wakatoshi’s fingers mash down on his keyboard, leaving a long trail of nonsense on his spreadsheet. “Morita-san,” he hisses between clenched teeth.

There’s a sigh from behind him, and Morita takes his usual posture of leaning against Wakatoshi’s desk and wrinkling his papers. “I owe you an apology. Apparently, Hitoka-chan was very put out with her mother for setting her up like that, and the only reason she didn’t burst into tears the moment you sat down is because you were such a gentleman the entire time.” He harrumphs. “Thank you for that, by the way. If I had sent a rude young man to meet her daughter, Madoka would have unmanned me for sure.”

Wakatoshi’s lip curls in disgust. “She should stop doing it altogether. Yachi-san mentioned that many of her dates are handsy and inappropriate. She should let Yachi-san choose for herself; she seems smart enough to pick her own company.”

Eyes wide, Morita leans in. “You mean they tried to —” He shivers. “I should tell Madoka. She wouldn’t have agreed to set you two up if she knew.”

“Or maybe you should both just mind your own business.” The words slipped out before Wakatoshi could filter them, and he hears the thump of something in the next cubicle over being dropped. Likely in shock that a subordinate dares to speak to a supervisor that way, but even though he knows he will probably pay for that later, Wakatoshi can’t say he regrets saying it.

But Morita nods. “I deserved that.” He crosses his arms and looks down at Wakatoshi. “I’m only trying to help you, you know. I know you don’t want anything to do with it, but married men make more money and get promoted more often than single guys. Our clients like working with people who understand ‘priorities’, because they think that’s what _their_ customers care about.

“You’re a smart kid and a hard worker, and you have what it takes to go far in this company. I just don’t want you to get overlooked because you’re single.” Morita sighs. “They don’t care that in order to get those promotions, you have to work hours that would probably keep you from ever seeing your wife and kids; the only thing that matters to the powers that be is that you have them.”

Quirking a brow, Wakatoshi says flatly, “That’s ridiculous.”

“It is, but it’s also true.” Morita straightens, straightening out the papers he mussed for the first time in Wakatoshi’s recollection, and he adds, “I won’t do it again, I promise. And thank you for being good to Hitoka-chan. Her mother and I have been friends since college, and I’d hate to hurt her daughter.”

Wakatoshi stares straight at the cubicle wall in front of him until Morita leaves, only then allowing his head to drop onto his keyboard and send his document into even further disarray. He is acutely aware of how damaging his attitude might have been to his chances of advancement. One word from Morita about it and he would be doing basic data entry for the next twenty years, with slim to no chance of a good reference should he decide to find a different job.

For as long as he can remember, he’s spoken with brutal honesty to everyone he meets. Some appreciate his candor, but most others find it spiny and rude — something he has no wish to be. He is lucky that Morita already bears a measure of guilt for his part in the debacle that his words did not offend, but if he does manage to move up and gets a supervisor less appreciative of his honesty, his good fortune could very well run out and he could fulfil Morita’s ominous prophecy.

Wakatoshi’s focus on his work for the rest of the afternoon is lackluster at best as he spends an embarrassing amount of time on the same page, punching in wrong number after wrong number until he decides to take a trip to the coffee maker just so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore.

The next day, his focus is somewhat restored, but to his dismay, half the building knows about his ill-fated blind date the day before. They all quit gossiping the moment he walks by; however, it’s hard not to put the pieces together when he doesn’t hear the rest of the minions on his floor talking about anything else.

The moment noon comes, Wakatoshi speeds out the door to escape the building. He looks across the busy street and sees the Thai place where he had his fated lunch with Hitoka and promptly walks the other direction. He finds himself heading toward a small sandwich shop a block away, pulling his umbrella a little closer to his person as it wards off the chilly October rain.

He doesn’t see the small body about to slam into his until the impact nearly knocks his umbrella out of his hands. Wakatoshi looks to his right in surprise, brows raising as he sees Hitoka fruitlessly trying to rescue a stack of folders from the soggy pavement. Kneeling next to her, he collects as many as he can before helping her to her feet.

“Are you all right?” Wakatoshi asks, handing her the pile of papers he had managed to rescue. “You should be careful walking near the street, Yachi-san.”

Hitoka ducks behind her bundle and groans. “I’m sorry, Ushijima-san. I’ve just had a really bad day.” She offers him a watery smile. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” he admits as he moves to shield her from the cold drizzle as much as he can. “Where are you headed?”

“Lunch,” she says, trying and failing to straighten out her pile of files. “Oh, these are probably ruined.”

Wakatoshi nods. “Probably.” He looks behind her, noticing for the first time that this is probably where she had exited. The placard next to the door said it was an advertising firm, where Yachi Madoka is listed as a partner. This must be the same Madoka that Morita had mentioned, as well as Hitoka’s mother.

He looks back at Hitoka, who is standing outside without an umbrella in five degree weather and still searching for an escape route from the warm building behind her, and it spurs him to ask, “Would you like to have lunch with me, Yachi-san?”

She stares at him blankly until he reaches over and flips up the hood on her jacket to keep the rain from completely soaking her hair. Beneath the brim, he sees a crooked smile as she answers, “I’d like that.”

Satisfied that he can offer her the respite from what is likely the same embarrassment he is also trying to escape, Wakatoshi offers her his arm as they walk side by side to the sandwich shop. He doesn’t mind the extra moisture on his shoulder as he sacrifices some of his own protection in order to give Hitoka the full benefit of the umbrella.

Hitoka insists on buying because he paid last time, and Wakatoshi lets her. They eat in comfortable silence, with neither of them trying to make conversation until their plates are cleared away and they’re left nursing their coffees.

“Sorry I ran into you, Ushijima-san,” Hitoka starts, chuckling. The sound is soft and merry, and Wakatoshi can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it just a bit. “Everyone heard about the, um . . . _thing_ yesterday, and they won’t stop talking about it.”

He nods solemnly. “I have had similar issues. My boss apparently went to college with your mother, and they’re the ones who arranged it. He thought I might get promoted faster if I had a wife.” Wakatoshi takes a sip of his coffee and frowns. “Why don’t you tell your mother about how poorly your other dates treated you? She would stop if she knew how close one of them could’ve come to hurting you.”

Shivering at the mention, Hitoka shakes her head. “I know she means well. She doesn’t want me to end up like her, married to her job and sleeping with her assistant because she doesn’t have time to look for someone else to be with. She just wants me to be happy, and it would break her heart if she knew.”

“I see.” Wakatoshi mulls this over, understanding full well how much a parent’s expectations can pressure a child, even well-intentioned ones. His own family had wanted to take away his left-handedness because it was not ‘normal’, but the only thing his father had ever asked of his in-laws was to allow Wakatoshi to remain left-handed. He waggles his left fingers over the brim of his cup as a reminder of that.

“You may want to consider telling her that you have your life under control, then,” he advises instead. “Parents may want the best for you, but they don’t always know what that is.”

Hitoka smiles at him. “I might do that.” Shrinking a little, she averts her eyes and adds, “Maybe later, though. I kind of yelled at her yesterday; that’s why everybody knows.”

“Good.” Wakatoshi bobs his head in approval. “You deserve to make your own choices, even if you do walk out of doors without looking in front of you.”

Her cheeks redden, even as she squeaks out a, “Thank you!” before a, “Hey!”

Wakatoshi chuckles at her pink cheeks, and not for the first time since she plowed into the side of him, he is glad they have a chance to meet on their own terms.

He helps her reorganize her file folders as best he can before they depart back to their adjacent buildings, and on the trip back, she takes his arm before he offers it as they huddle together under his umbrella.

Later that evening, he heads downtown to meet up with a few old high school friends for their weekly night on the town. And by night on the town, Wakatoshi generally indulges in a few drinks and a bedtime slightly later than his usual ten at night.

“Hey, Wakatoshi~,” Tendou hails from a table near the door. He’s flanked by Semi and Oohira, with Yamagata across from them.

They all wave in greeting before going back to their conversation, which Wakatoshi deduces to be about Yamagata’s third child being on the way and the comparative size of his wife’s breasts against her past pregnancies.

Wakatoshi rolls his eyes and sits.

“And the Snow King has arrived,” Semi jokes at Wakatoshi’s expression of distaste. “Relax. It’s just guy talk, and for what it’s worth, his are much nicer.” Yamagata swats him and crosses his arms over his flat chest as if to banish them from Semi’s thoughts.

Raising a brow, Wakatoshi asks, “How much did you let him drink?”

“Five?” Oohira wonders aloud before nodding. “Yeah, it’s been five.”

Turning to Tendou, Wakatoshi asks, “And you let him drink that much?”

Tendou shrugs. “The last time I ‘let’ him do anything, I slept on the couch for a week. Good way to ruin a marriage.”

The married men at the table, which is all of them, raise their glasses and chime in, “Hear, hear.”

When Tendou turns his attention back to Wakatoshi, his eyes narrow. “You seem different. You were almost _smiling_ when you came in. You haven’t done that in a while.”

Of all his old friends, Tendou had been the only one he would allow to witness the breakdown he’d had after being told he could never play volleyball professionally again. It had been nothing dramatic; in fact, it had been mild in terms of meltdowns. He still got up every morning to shave and shower, still ate, still slept, and still went to work. But that was all he would do. He wouldn’t leave his apartment for anything other than food and work and occasionally to do laundry, and the only person he would allow in was Tendou. Tendou didn’t say a word, but rather did the dishes and used Wakatoshi’s credit card to pay the bills before sitting silently next to him on the couch for hours.

For weeks, it was their ritual until one day Tendou suggested they go visit the manga shop nearby and Wakatoshi agreed. They spent a combined eighteen-thousand yen and when they left, Wakatoshi smiled for the first time in a long while. That had been a few years ago, but there are times when he looks at his life now and his life then and longs for the days when all of his problems could be solved with sweat and practice.

Tendou knows something has changed, and Wakatoshi isn’t afraid to admit that he does, too. With a harrumph, he says, “My boss tried to set me up on a blind date with a friend’s daughter.”

The other conversations at the table stop, and they all turn to gape at him.

Oohira chuckles and takes a long drag of his beer. “That man must fear no gods.”

“She was nice,” Wakatoshi says, and Tendou almost spits out his own drink. “What?”

“You _like_ her,” Semi observes as he and his husband share a knowing look. “What’s she like.”

Fighting off the irritation by his friends assuming knowledge they certainly do not have, Wakatoshi says, “None of your business.”

“No shit, dude,” Yamagata interjects. “He’s gay.”

They all laugh and turn back to await the answer. Sighing, Wakatoshi relents. “Small. Blonde. Nervous.” His lips twitch at the memory of early that day when she had run into him. “Clumsy.”

Oohira gives him a long lock. “Now I _have_ to hear this.”

Wakatoshi gives in and recounts the events of the past couple of days, starting with Morita’s angle for a blind date and ending with them sharing an umbrella as they headed back to work. When he finishes, they’re all sharing looks that Wakatoshi can’t quite put a label on.

Finally, Yamagata breaks the silence. “That was so shoujo manga I might actually puke.”

Even when Wakatoshi frowns at the comparison, Tendou gives him a nod and a wry smile to confirm. However, he chooses not to agree as he pulls out his phone and looks her up on Facebook. She’s the first search result, which is made obvious by the familiar sight of her hiding her face behind her hands as someone behind the camera tries to snap a candid.

He opens her photo album and flicks through them, finding a plethora of pictures dating all the way back to high school, including one she had been tagged in featuring a group photo of the Karasuno volleyball club that had sent his own home early in his final year there. She’s grinning from ear to ear, flanked by two of the guys on the team as they knelt down in front. He remembers the day he met her much more clearly now, with the image of her youthful self in his mind.

Scrolling back to recent photos, he finds a nice one with her and a woman he assumes is her mother, shoulder to shoulder in a restaurant booth. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, which evaporates the moment his phone is plucked out of his hands.

“Is this her?” Tendou asks even as he flicks through the photos, smirk widening after every one.

“That’s her,” he confirms, relegating himself to the loss of privacy. Instead, he flicks open the menu. “The eel rolls sound good. I think I’ll get those today.”

“Oh, she’s cute,” Tendou remarks as he passes Wakatoshi’s phone around for the rest of the group’s perusal. “Where did Karasuno even find pretty girls like this?”

Oohira nods. “If you like her, you should do something about it. You know who she is and you know where she works. It shouldn’t be hard to ask her out if you just try.”

Wakatoshi looks down at his menu and frowns. “I don’t need a relationship.”

Semi lists forward and flicks his forehead. “Nobody _needs_ a relationship. You are allowed to want one, though.”

Falling silent except to order his drink and meal, Wakatoshi mulls over what Semi had said. His friends are correct; he _does_ like her. Whether it’s platonically or romantically, he can’t begin to say, but after his fifth drink, he decides that he is willing to let it go wherever she is willing to lead it.

He stands on wobbly legs and excuses himself from the table, with a grumbled, “Bathroom,” before heading outside and pulling out his phone. He clicks the Call button on the messenger and hopes that she deigns to pick up.

The line comes to life, and a hesitant, “Ushijima-san?”

Not having rehearsed what he wants to say at all, Wakatoshi opts for, “Yachi-san. You are very nice.”

There is a long silence before she answers hesitantly, “You’re, um, nice too, Ushijima-san.”

“Good. You’re also pretty.” He isn’t drunk enough not to wince at his ridiculous words, but he can regret it all tomorrow. Tonight, he’s going to ask this woman out and he’ll be damned if anyone will stop him. Even himself. “Can I take you to dinner tomorrow?”

Hitoka yelps into the phone. “Y-you want to out with . . . with _me_?”

“I do,” he confirms, his hazy brain unable to process why this is a surprise to her. He’ll have to figure that one out the next day.

“I, um —”

There is a high-pitched sneeze that makes him drop his phone in surprise, and he drops to his knees to pick it up. The connection is still live, and he jams it back to his face and says, “Please don’t say no.” She sneezes again, but this time he’s prepared. “Are you okay?”

Sniffling, Hitoka gives a pained chuckle. “I have a cold from going out into the rain without an umbrella. Mine blew away this morning, which is why I didn’t have one.” Loudly sniffling, she adds, “So I’d love to have dinner with you, but that might be a bad idea.”

“It would.” Wakatoshi scratches his temple, trying to pull an idea out of his muddled head, but nothing comes to mind other than, “Then lunch again on Monday? We can have soup.”

“Soup is nice.” Hitoka yawns loudly. “My phone number is on my profile so you can text me.”

“I will.” Wakatoshi smiles, making a passer-by frown and give him a wide berth. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“That’ll be nice. Good night, Ushijima-san.”

“Wakatoshi,” he corrects. “If that’s okay.”

“Good night, Wakatoshi-kun.”

“And to you, Hitoka-chan.”

The call ends, and Wakatoshi knows he’s grinning at his phone but is either too drunk or too happy at the prospect of starting something new with Hitoka to care. When he returns to his table, four sets of eyes watch him intently as he manages to sit back down without upsetting anything.

“Well?” Semi asks, arms crossed over his chest and fingers drumming impatiently. “What did she say?”

“She’s — I said I went to the bathroom.”

Tendou cackles. “Sure, Wakatoshi, we believe that.” He elbows Wakatoshi and beams at him. “Well?”

Brain too tired to obfuscate, Wakatoshi replies, “We’re having lunch again on Monday because she has a cold. She’s too sick to go out tomorrow night.”

“Pay up,” Oohira says, holding out a hand to Semi. “You said he’d be too drunk to figure out how to call her.”

“Damn it,” Semi grumbles as he drops five hundred yen into Oohira’s outstretched hands. “I figured he’d just fall asleep on the toilet again.”

Wakatoshi feels a flare of defensiveness over his ability to hold his liquor, but it quickly gives way to anticipation as he realizes that he’ll see Hitoka again without it being an accident or a setup. The thought puts a grin on his face that never quite leaves, even after they all bid their goodnights to each other and head home for the night.

The weekend passes too slowly for Wakatoshi, and it’s been a long time since he has been so anxious to get his day started and get on the train to the office. He blows through his workload for the day in a few hours, and at quarter to noon, he is already on his way out the front door.

Arms crossed, he leans against the main entrance of Hitoka’s building and waits for her to come out. At five minutes to the hour, she exits and nearly runs into him at the same spot she had before. “Oh!”

He puts an arm around her shoulder to steady her. “There is no need to keep meeting like this, Hitoka-chan. You already have my attention.”

Her cheeks blaze as she straightens. “Be nice to me, I’m sick!”

“Of course.” Wakatoshi reaches down to take her smaller hand into his own. “May I?”

With a sneeze, Hitoka nods. “Lead the — _achoo!_ — way.”

They walk together with no destination in particular in mind until they find a ramen shop a block away, and the scent of warm, hearty broth draws them in. While they wait on their food to arrive, Wakatoshi starts, “I apologize if I was . . . off Friday night.” He colors and ducks his head. “I probably had one too many.”

“I see.” Hitoka frowns. “So, does that mean you didn’t actually want to have lunch with me, that you’re just here because you feel obligated?”

She sniffles, which Wakatoshi can’t discern to be a symptom of her cold or distress at the situation, and neither of those options pleases him at all. “Never.” He shakes his head and reaches across the table to touch her pale cheek. “I think you’ll find that I don’t do or say anything I don’t want to do.”

“Oh?” Hitoka blushes and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “So you really like me?”

“I do.” Wakatoshi gives her a wide smile and says, “I’m hoping you feel the same.”

“So bright!” she squeaks as she stares at him. “Your smile is really nice, Wakatoshi-kun.”

“So is yours.”

Wakatoshi wonders whether she is avoiding answering his question, but just as he resolves to let the matter go, Hitoka leans across the table to peck him on the lips. His eyes widen as he stares at her, touching his fingers to his lips in surprise.

“I like you too, Wakatoshi-kun.” As soon as the words leave her lips, her hands fly over her mouth.

Not sure what the matter is, Wakatoshi softly asks, “Are you all right?”

Pulling her hands away just enough to talk, Hitoka moans, “I can’t believe I kissed you while I’m sick! What a stupid thing to do.”

Wakatoshi can’t stifle a laugh. “I think I’ll live.”

“You don’t know that!”

As they debate the finer points of viral contact, Wakatoshi eases into this new mindset that, for all his protestations of wanting to remain alone, he hasn’t felt this engaged in years.

And that’s a good feeling, indeed.

 

**_Meanwhile_ **

“Are you sure?” Madoka asks as she leans on Morita’s desk. “She said the date was terrible.”

Morita chuckles. “They met outside your building not ten minutes ago and they were holding hands.”

Madoka hums in thought. “And you’re sure this boy can be trusted?”

“You should meet him. He’s blunt but . . . well, he’s blunt.” He shrugs sheepishly. “But he’s honorable and hard-working. He’ll probably be a partner by the time he’s my age.”

Crossing her arms, Madoka harrumphs. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Morita wonders for a moment whether to divulge what Wakatoshi had told him about Hitoka’s bad experiences with her previous dates, but Wakatoshi’s protestations that it’s not his place stick in his mind. Instead, he says, “My dear, he is the best kind of man, and I think they will complement each other nicely.”

They look out Morita’s office window and just catch the distant sight of Wakatoshi and Hitoka entering the ramen shop hand in hand, and Madoka smiles. “You know what? I think you might be right.”

 


End file.
